


Ghost

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Series: Werewolf Drabbles [1]
Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis' first encounter with the mysterious Ghost. Who, exactly, is the mysterious white werewolf of Thames Valley?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost

“Come on, pup,” Chief Inspector Bell growled impatiently. The broad-shouldered bruiser of a wolf, the mottled gray fur of what was once an inky black coat blending in with the shadows that fell all around. “We’ll miss the hunt!”

Lewis was too busy looking around with new eyes, smelling with a new nose, that he barely noticed the aching hunger in his gut. He had always been attentive to the rumblings of his stomach, but under cover of darkness, fresh moonlight shining on his dark brown fur and lean, runner’s frame, it hardly seemed important.

And then, he saw him.

A slim white wolf as pale as the full moon stepped out from the cover of the trees and bramble. The wolf lifted his head, tilting his snout upwards. His body was positioned perfectly, though he seemed to just slightly favor his left side, and taut as fishing line. Lewis had never seen a wolf as elegant as he appeared to be.

“Sir…” Lewis stared in awe as the white wolf lifted his head and howled into the night, a melodic, sorrowful note. “Who’s that? I don’t remember him from around the station.”

Bell returned to Lewis’ side and snorted. “Oh, he just likes to show off. We call him The Ghost.” He butted into Lewis insistently. “Now, come on, pup. I’ll show you what it’s like to hunt with the pack.”

Lewis obeyed, but he was smitten by the mystery of the nickname. Who, exactly, was The Ghost?

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Lewis began his enquiries around the station. He had to know who The Ghost was.

After an entire morning of closed mouths and a lot of brushing-off, coupled with jokes about his accent, Lewis was about to give up and go back to Bell's office, tail between his legs, when he finally caught a break.

A podgy constable looked up from laughing with his mates by the coffee machine when he looked up and groaned. “Ugh. Don’t look now, lads, but Old Ghost has finally shown his face.”

The lads laughed. Lewis looked up from the coffee machine and saw the focus of their disdain.

By the way he carried himself, he could have been an alpha; black straight, head held high, eyes piercing and focused. A coffee in one hand and a file under his arm, the man was elbowing his way through the station’s chaos. He had unruly white hair and lines around his mouth that made him look sour. He breezed by with purpose, and Lewis caught a whiff of something flowery mixed with leather. Lavender, perhaps?

“Self-important bastard.” Grumbled one of the nearby constables. 

“Who was that?” Lewis asked, stunned. He had never before seen a man enter the chaos of the C.I.D. and not be swallowed up immediately, even the other guvs in the station; including his!

“That there’s Morse.” A slim constable said, sneering into his tea. “Chief Inspector, if you want to know. Goes by Ghost as well, on account of his white hair.”

“Morse.” Lewis whispered, the name feeling reverent on his lips.

Someone elbowed him. “Oi, lads. I think he’s smitten.”

“Cut yer crap!” Lewis pushed back. “He jes looks important, is all.”

The lads rolled their eyes. “Self-important, like we said. Ornery, too. Alpha’s given up assigning ‘im sergeants, cause ‘e can’t keep em.”

“He must have his reasons.” Lewis replied, still staring after Morse. The man’s office seemed to be down at the end of the hall, isolated from the bustle of the station and his fellow officers.

Lewis knew very little about werewolf culture, but from what he gathered, only alphas preferred to work alone. That only intrigued him more.

When he got back to Bell's office, his CI was in a tither. “And where the hell have you been, Lewis?” He demanded.

“Sorry, Sir. Jes explorin a bit.” Lewis returned to his desk and rolled a new sheet through the typewriter.

“Yeah, well,” Bell growled. “Just nothing better get in the way of my promotion! I hear Morse put in for it, too. Not that he’ll get it. Bastard’s too damn antisocial. Rumor has it he’s been trying for promotion every time it comes round and not been successful yet! Hmph! No connections, has Morse. No sense of brotherhood.” 

Lewis glanced up and caught the glint of a silver ring. He felt a churning in the pit of his stomach, like his intestines were wrapping around his breakfast. Masonry leanings were not uncommon in Newcastle, where he’d been before transferring, but they were so much more obvious and, dare he say, flaunted here in Oxford. If his Val weren’t from here, and if there hadn’t been an opening in Homicide here, he might not have considered this place at all. He got a lot of teasing from his mates back home that he’d be homesick in a week and that he’d never survive Oxford.

He was almost starting to believe them.

Lewis rubbed at the turning bite from Bell on his arm, then went studiously back to work.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t have to try hard, he found, to find out about Morse. Gossip about the white wolf abounded. His ways with women were legendary and many jokes were made about the way he tore through sergeants like a shredder, weeding out any he didn’t fancy. His fondness for beer was thrown in, too, not to mention how it could eat through allowances. But for every negative, there were just as many awestruck comments about how quickly he could solve cases. Lewis was finding more and more that he wanted to work beside this man.

But Lewis rarely saw him around the station. It was always brief glances from a distance, and then he was gone. The man never frequented any one place, not even the loo! If he spent any time at all in the station, he never left his office. And what with everything Lewis was hearing, it seemed likely Morse spent little time there, at least during normal working hours.

Val had sensed it immediately. Lewis was glad to just have it all out in the open. It had been the same with his desire to transfer to Oxford and be turned.

“Do you think he’ll have you?” Val asked while she was getting ready for bed one night.

Robbie, already in bed, yawned and adjusted the covers. “Dunno. He seems…standoffish. Ah couldn’t get close to him even if Ah tried, luv.”

“Well,” Val suggested, getting in beside him, “maybe you have to make him come to you.” She glanced up at him seriously, running a hand through his hair. “Your skills were wasted in Vice. It’s why you wanted this position. Show him you’re capable.”

Robbie chuckled. “Ah guess you missed the part about how fast he goes through sergeants, aye?”

Val swatted him. “Come off it, Robbie! He probably just hasn’t found one he likes! You’ve told me about it before, how the profession works. Sometimes, you meet your first and you click immediately, and other times, it takes a bit.” She kissed his cheek. “I know you’re not happy with Bell, and with the promotion still in question, you can’t well ask for a transfer. But until the news comes back, you may as well try and get yourself noticed.”

Robbie smiled. Val always did know just what to say. “Thanks, luv. Ah will.”

It turned out that, in the end, all it took to get himself noticed was a simple observation.


End file.
